um
one day, about a fortnight after Madeline's departure, her quick eye
caught sight of a bit of paper lying on the counter, whereon was
freshly written, "Madeline Splurge." Miss Wimple had been entering
some trifling charge in the course of her small book-keeping, and,
still dallying with the pen, a passing thought, less idle than
anxious, had traced the name. On that slight foundation Adelaide had
built a happy guess, though Simon knew it not,--and though he
accepted her suggestion, it amazed him.

Let us lift the curtain now, on the last, an extraordinary, _tableau_.
In the Wimple nest a strange company are met at the bidding of
Madeline Splurge, who couches a flashing lance for the life and the
honor of her benefactress.

Proudly, condescendingly, haughtily superior to the least sparing of
herself,--as one who stooped at the bidding of Duty,--she had told
her story, from first to last, omitting nothing; with head erect,
pale lips, and flashing eyes,--with a passing flush, perhaps, at the
more shameful passages, but with no faltering, no dodging, no
self-excusing, no beseeching,--scornfully when she spoke of home, and
the beginning of the end,--redly, hatefully, wickedly dangerous,
when Philip Withers came on the scene,--with tremulous lips and the
low tones of Gratitude's most moving eloquence for the story of
Miss Wimple and her sublimely simple sacrifice,--modestly and with
grateful deference, at the mention of Mr. Osgood and his rare
chivalry.

Then, taking from her bosom a small morocco pocket-book, and from
the pocket-book a card, she said,--

"And now to toss that _thing_ to the geese of Hendrik! Read that,
slowly, distinctly, that all may hear!"--and she placed the card in
Simon's hand, who ran his eye over it for a moment, then stood up,
and read:--

"MADELINE,--For God's sake be merciful, be reasonable! I will comply
with your hardest terms,--I will share all I possess with you,
[Adelaide smiled,]--I will even marry you after a time; but do not,
I implore you, in your recklessness, involve me in your unnecessary
ruin; do not fling me under the playful feet of that ingenious shrew
Adelaide. Meet me at the bridge tonight, in memory of our dear old
love."

"P.W."

When Simon had read the card, he let it fall on the floor, with a
gesture of disgust, and, without looking at Withers, who slunk,
pitifully wilted, into a corner, returned to his place on a low stool,
where he resumed his former attitude,